


The Man who Forgot

by navaan



Category: 1872 (Comics), Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Banter, Captain America/Iron Man Relay Remix 2017, Complicated Relationships, First Kiss, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Protectiveness, Snark, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:41:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9105088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/pseuds/navaan
Summary: Steve has lost his memories and people are trying to protect him, because Timely is not where you want to be without knowing who to trust.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was the starter fic for the Captain America/Iron Man Relay Remix 2017 - it is NOT a remix itself.

“So?” he asked very slowly, his fingers tangling around the brightly polished metal star that was attached to his vest. “I’m the sheriff?” 

The scrawny man with the dirty glasses and the tired face looked him over and gave him a thin smile. “You’re the sheriff, yes.”

He let that sink in. Frowning, he’d already discovered, aggravated his headache, but he couldn’t help it. It was confusing enough - not knowing yourself, not knowing friend from foe.

“And you’re the… doctor?”

“People call me Doc Banner. But I’m the local druggist. I run the apothecary. You’re stuck with me.” 

“No doc in town then?” Hearing the man’s voice and then his own made him wonder at his own accent. The man who’d dragged him here… He hadn’t had that accent either.

“No, sheriff. You’d have to take the train to reach Newton. No train today, though. Nor Tomorrow.”

He nodded, although he didn’t remember. “Will I remember? Eventually?”

Before he’d sat up to ask questions he had seen Bannner go through a big medical tome. He must know more about medicine than he admitted. “I don’t know, Steve. You’ve received quite the blow to the head.”

Steve. Steve Rogers. That was him.

“This is all new to me, too,” the doc admitted. “You were lucky Tony knew enough to not let you bleed out and not make it worse.”

Tony.

“That’s the man who was here when I woke up?” Steve remembered. He’d looked run down with dirt in his hair and dust and dried blood on his suit. He’d quickly taken his leave when it had become clear that Steve was not going to die, but had no idea who he was.

“He a friend?”

Banner seemed to consider that question carefully. “You have your differences. But as far as this town goes he’s one of the reliable ones.”

That sounded… not good. 

There finally was a knock on the door. For some reason Steve expected “Tony” to have returned, and he explained it to himself with the fact that he had no memory of anyone but the two people he’d interacted with since waking up. But when Banner, visibly wary and cautious, opened the door his eyes fell on a tall woman with red hair that was held in a bun at the back of her head. She was clad in a black dress. _Wife?_ he thought for a panicked moment, when he realized that it was entirely possible that he’d forgotten all about his family.

He’d forgotten his name, after all.

It was a scary thought.

But the woman walked in at a sedate pace and spared him a single glance before turning towards Banner.

“Stark told me what happened,” she said, slowly. “He thinks it’s best if Rogers does not return to the sheriff's office alone, as long as he… doesn’t have all the facts.”

“He’s not wrong there,” Banner agreed with a grimace.

“Would it help if someone filled me in?” He already hated being at a disadvantage.

* * *

She told him to call her Natasha, although everyone seemed to call her Mrs. Barnes, and put him up in her guest room.

“Your husband…” he tried to ask when he saw the picture as he walked up the stairs. 

“He was your friend. He would have wanted you to be safe.”

That was as far as he got with asking questions. Natasha was not interested in small talk, perhaps not even in his company. So he found himself alone in the room above the stairs, his head still hurting and wrapped tightly with an uncomfortable dressing that made him sweat. Not sure what to do with himself up here, he looked out the window. 

People were walking up and down the streets going about their business. None of the faces triggered a memory. As sheriff in such a small town, he must have known all of them. The houses across the street seemed familiar. Natasha had told him that the court house was among those building, but that no judge had come to sit over a trail here in months and that it was unlikely to happen again any time soon.

“This town in trouble?”

A soft snort had been the only answer.

Across the street a man drew his hat down deeper over his eyes, hiding his face. He had been looking up at the window. Just for a moment.

The strangest feeling came over Steve.

Everyone was talking about this town in a way that smelled of danger. And nobody had been able or willing to tell him yet what exactly had happened to him.

* * *

“You think of him as a bit of a nuisance,” Natasha explained when Stark dropped off some clothes for Steve the next day and went before Steve had even known he’d been there. “We all do.”

“Why is he helping then?”

Natasha shrugged. “He always does. When he’s in a state to do so.”

“State?”

“You drag him from the casino’s saloon every other evening.” 

Another frown brought back the headache and he felt like lying down. He was missing too many of the facts of his own life. _Why would I do that? If he’s a nuisance, why would I…?_

* * *

People were watching the house. They were taking turns and Steve had noticed that they vanished in the evening. He had no idea what it meant at all, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t good. But with Natasha not actually interested in talking and his memory what it was, he had a limited range of options.

He thought about going back to the sheriff’s office and see if anything there would trigger his memories. Instead he found himself walking out of the house of the widow Barnes under the cover of night, his steps taking him straight to the backyard of the Stark Enterprises building. He knocked, but there was no answer.

He knocked again, his eyes falling on the yard next to Stark's, where boards and planks were propped up and even in the dark Steve could make out the shapes of half finished coffins. Did this town really need those this frequently?

When Stark still did not come to the door, Steve tried to push it open, but it was locked up. 

Frustrated, he sighed. 

That left one place to look.

He hadn’t wanted to walk into the casino without more information, but there was nothing to be done about it now. Tony was the only one he could ask what had happened. 

And he really wanted to see him.

Had since he’d left the apothecary after his eyes had narrowed, confused and maybe hurt by the fact that Steve couldn’t remember him. There was just something he needed to know.

* * *

“Sheriff,” someone greeted him and men were nodding at him. He nodded. He was glad that he’d gotten rid of the irritating bandages and taken the hat Stark had left for him. It was easy enough to make out the only person he could identify in a sea of strangers. Tony was slumped at the bar counter, a half filled glass of bourbon in front of him.

Steve, no idea how well he knew the person on the other side of the bar, immediately declared: “I’m taking him home.”

The man shrugged. “I’ll keep his tab open.”

Steve wanted to protest, but remembered that it was none of his business and nodded instead, grabbing Tony by the arm and dragging him into a standing position. The walk to Stark’s place was slow. The man stumbled over his own feet a few times, but Steve held him steady. Had it been like this, when Tony had dragged him to the doc?

“I really like you, don’t I?” Steve asked into the dark of the night, the merry mix of laughter, loud conversation and saloon music following them from the casino.

“Of course, you do,” Stark agreed, that being the first thing coming from his mouth that was actually more than an incomprehensible mumble. 

“Huh,” he said, mulling that over. “I came over to ask you what happened.”

“You looked into the trouble at Wilson’s place. Someone roughed up Sam pretty bad.”

“And then?”

Stark shrugged. “The best I can tell you is that they were not Fisk’s men.”

“That means nothing to me right now.”

“Of course,” Stark said agreeably. He smelled of alcohol, mint and oil. Gunpowder. There was a hint of gunpowder, too. It was a repulsive mix, but Steve felt himself calm down. This was familiar. When the man nodded in the direction of the backyard, Steve pulled him along. He had a sudden epiphany about having done this before.

When Stark had opened the door for them and stumbled into the dark room - workshop - mumbling thanks, like he expected Steve to walk away again, Steve followed him in, with sure hands found the matches and lit a small lamp that he just knew _always_ waited on the side table. 

He had really been here before. 

More than once.

The light of the lamp made a nearby piece of metal gleam in the dark and he looked at it. He had seen that before, too.

When?

Stark - _Tony_ \- looked at him with a slightly befuddled expression. It was easy to work through his own confusion when there were only so many facts he had to go by. He pushed Tony towards the corner of the room where an untidy cot was put against the wall and kissed him, while pushing him down into a sitting position at the same time.

His mouth was dry and he tasted sour and like bourbon. Steve wasn’t sure he liked it. But he liked the warmth. There were no questions right now. Everything was fine. He could stop asking questions. 

Tony kissed him back and let himself fall forward a bit against his chest.

A loud creak from the porch made them pull apart. “What…?” Tony started and he looked sober now. “You kissed me.”

Steve stared at his lips, his heart beating very fast - not only because he’d kissed someone who was barely more than a stranger at the moment based on a hunch - but because someone was out there. “Shouldn’t have done that?” he whispered. The redness on Tony’s cheeks had nothing to do with the drunken stupor he’d found him in. “I thought we did that before.”

“You did?” Tony’s eyes widened, then without warning he pulled Steve to the side, both of them losing their balance and tumbling to the floor, just before a shot fired and a bullet lodged itself into the wooden wall above their heads. “Damn it,” Tony mumbled and Steve, his head spinning a little, growled.

“Stark! We want that weapon you used on Billy at the Wilson place. Come out.”

The door was shoved open and Steve grabbed for his gun, but before he could do anything Tony had fired a sizzling shot over his shoulder. He looked, coming face to face with Tony’s wrist and the metal device that was surrounding his hand and fingers like a skeletal glove. “What in the…?” He remembered. Like a flash of memory it all came back in a rush. Sam Wilson calling out to him, the men surrounding Steve, guns drawn, ready to fire, Stark arriving on his horse and firing with… whatever this thing was he was using now. The porch had toppled over and he’d jumped forward to protect Sam. Wooden poles and boards had rained down on them...

“Those,” Stark muttered nodding towards, “ _are_ Fisk’s people.”

“Figures,” Steve muttered and realized that he actually knew what that meant. “Someone sold your secret to the most likely interested party.”

“Figures,” Stark echoed. 

Steve had his revolver in hand and kicked over a table, so the two of them could get some cover. He pulled Stark along again. Right now he needed to focus on what was happening out there. _Then_ he could come back and figure out why he’d thought Stark and him were more than just… distant allies.

“There is three of them. They probably thought you wouldn’t be much trouble tonight.”

“I’m always trouble.”

“No need to tell me,” Steve agreed with a quiet huff. 

A cry from outside got his attention. There was more of the strange sizzling sound and he looked over at Stark.

“I did take precautions,” he admitted and grinned lopsidedly.

“Do I want to know what that means?”

A shadow appeared in the door and Steve, ready this time, aimed - not at the man, but the oil lamp. Hit the thing flew up, spraying the lamp oil at their assailant and setting his shirt on fire when a spark also fell on him. 

“All in a night’s work,” Stark muttered.

Screaming bloody murder, the man ran from the scene. Steve stormed to the door, making sure to use all the cover the cluttered room provided.

But the final man outside silently fell to his knees, suddenly unconscious in the dirt. “Concussed people should not run around,” the widow Barnes said calmly. She was not wearing a dress. In fact right now she looked more like a bandit on his way to rob the bank. Steve stared.

Stark had no such problems, he unsteadily came back to his feet. “Nat! In the nick of time.”

“You said someone needed to keep an eye on him.” She nodded at Steve.

“On me?” Steve asked incredulously. “I had to pull you from the damn casino in the first place.”

“You were supposed to rest! And you had no idea who was what in this town!”

Natasha grinned. “In Timely you do not want to offend the wrong people.”

“Like you?” he asked. Her eyes were glinting in the dying light of the fallen lamp. He wasn’t sure what he was reading there. Bloodlust. A thirst for revenge - for Bucky. Something else entirely. 

She shrugged.

He nodded.

His eyes went back to Stark’s strange weapon. Then he remembered the mask-like piece of metal he’d seen on the worktable earlier. 

Stark hadn’t just been drinking and sleeping the last few weeks. He had been busy here all this time.

With what Steve couldn’t say, only guess at.

_How can such a brilliant man be such a mess?_

Perhaps he needed to keep an even closer eye on him. You could say, he had a personal interest now.

* * *

“This isn’t funny, Rogers!” Stark was fuming in the cell and Steve let himself fall into his chair, feet coming up on the table. “I haven’t even managed to get one drink, yet!”

“Who will believe it?” Steve asked sweetly. “I’ll keep you there to keep you from getting drunk in the first place.”

Stark stared, narrowed his eyes, let himself fall on the hard cot in the corner.

Steve grinned.

“If you wanted to spend time with me, _sheriff_ , you would only have to ask.”

“You’re annoying,” he pointed out, already knowing it was a bit of lie.

“I am. But you kissed me.”

“When I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Sure,” Stark agreed and fell silent, still fuming.

“Tony,” he said and that immediately drew the man’s attention. He never used his first name to his face. “You’re a good man and you asked Natasha to keep an eye on me when I was without defenses, because you knew about her. You’ve been keeping her secrets. Now let me help you.”

“I don’t need help.” Stark looked at him darkly. “Staying sober is not an option. When you want to be helpful get me a drink.”

Steve already knew Stark was fighting his own demons. He was not one for openly talking about what was going on with himself either, so he understood why Stark was always deflecting, pretending, playing around. For the longest time Stark had played with fire, because he thought he had the punishment coming. Everyone knew how he made his name and why people still thought for the revolvers with his name on it.

A look towards the photograph of him and Bucky in the corner, reminded him of his own regrets. 

“I like you too much to let you out of there tonight,” he said.

Stark took a deep breath, surprised perhaps at the admission.

“You could come in here,” he suggested.

Steve narrowed his eyes and wondered how long they’d been dancing this dance without him realizing it, without him _letting_ himself see it. “No chance.”

“So that’s how it is?”

“That’s how it is, _today_ ,” Steve said firmly. There would be other days. He was just not going to inform Tony about it.

Yet.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [speak twice (the scrying remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9218447) by [magicasen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicasen/pseuds/magicasen)




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